Red Matches
by teanotes
Summary: There's that growing pit inside your stomach and you can feel yourself starting to crack. — GinnyHarry


a/n: im kinda on a writing rush so here is a 6th year kinda au insert where harry visits the burrow for summer holiday and things happen

* * *

You're just about ready to get over him. That's how the year always starts, anyway.

But somewhere along the line of dolling up and finding a way to forget, the damn boy always pops back up like one of those muggle jack-in-the-boxes your father used to like fixing up behind your mother's back.

It was annoying, but he wasn't. It was you, really.

So there you are, finding the closest thing you have to an acceptable outfit for the day, when you see him with your brother, hanging out like they always do, in your front yard. You usually have the best vision, but it's like whenever he appears, all your senses crumble and your legs feel like it's been jelly-legs jinxed.

He's sitting under the big tree, probably doing things that you don't really care about, and you know you should look away because he's the reason you're doing all this anyway, but it's hard. It's also hard because you also know that whatever he's doing, he's probably doing it in that really adorable way he always does, with his pouty mouth and messy mop of hair. You bite your lip because just imagining his face makes your inner eleven year old want to giggle and grin (how _annoying_ is _that?_).

It makes you so upset that just looking at him makes you feel that way, and that's why you arranged this date with Dean to get him out of the pockets of your mind. Dean's an okay bloke, and you do feel a tiny bit of guilt for leading him on, but this is one of those things that's required and you just _have_ to get over Harry James Potter or else something terrible will happen.

You turn your head away from the window, and return back to rummaging through your trunk. You still don't have anything to wear, and you have to be discreet about the event or else everyone in the bloody house will freak out and attempt to pry, and you don't really need that (although you think if Harry does find out, you hope he'd be a _little_ jealous).

You're combing your hair when you hear his laugh. You haven't heard it in a long time, and you automatically smile. He doesn't laugh a lot lately, so it's nice to hear it again.

You still don't look out the window.

(There's that growing pit inside your stomach and you can feel yourself starting to crack.)

* * *

"Hi, Ginny."

That's the first thing he says to you when you come downstairs. It doesn't look like anyone else is in the house anymore, but you don't find yourself to care. He gestures to join him on the sofa and you wordlessly join him.

You know you look (at the very least) presentable, but next to Harry, you felt like a house elf—which is an exaggeration, but you honestly can't react because he's grown a lot in a couple months.

He still wears the same dark navy jacket from like, 4th year, and his lovely ruffled hair is still lovingly ruffled. But there's something that you can't put your finger on that makes him seem so _different_, and you don't figure out until later in the year.

"Hi, Harry," You say, keeping your tone of voice low. I'm supposed to be over this boy, you think feverishly. Stop thinking and acting like such a little girl—you aren't a little girl anymore. You're smarter and wiser (but maybe not too much because apparently you're still smitten with a boy with a wicked scar) and you don't deserve to be pushed away anymore.

He licks his lips as a habit and you try not to swoon. "How's your summer so far?"

You keep your head up when you reply you're doing fine, and you end up loosening when you start to casually converse. Maybe your favorite thing about talking with Harry is that he's just so lax about almost everything, and if they weren't in the middle of the war and he wasn't the Chosen One (or so they say), he'd be such a great friend to hang out with.

It was just one of those times where you wish you only wanted him to be a friend, but there's still that piece that wants to be more. Hermione told you long ago that it was time for you to move on—you didn't deserve to pine over someone who obviously didn't care—but you know you can't. But the thing is, you're also happy with how things are. Even if, depending if they made it out of this year alive, you don't end up with the literal boy of your dreams and he'd be off with some other pretty girl, you know you'd still be happy just to be with him. That's just the way it is with Harry Potter—you either love him or love to hate him. You might be in the latter category, but it might depend.

"You know, you look really nice today, Gin," He says with a smile. You know it's real because he has that little glint in those emerald peekers that probably means something, but then again might mean nothing.

You're glad you don't blush, because you're not embarrassed, you're flattered. And he called you 'Gin'! That was another thing you loved about him—

Love? Maybe you _did_ love him.

"Thanks, Harry. I guess you're not too unfortunate to look at today, either." You freeze. There was no way in Merlin's underpants did you just say that to Harry freaking Potter.

Your eyes lift up and you see him blink in surprise, as well. You're about to apologize profusely, because _what the bloody hell did you just do?_ But he caught you off guard with one of those heartwarming laughs again.

"I would hope," He offered, running a hand through his hair.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything—"

"Gin, you didn't offend me. Really—I know I look like crap right now."

His chuckles ring like bells at a wedding, and there is no doubt in your mind that you will never get over this boy.

"Well, sorry anyway." You say, unnecessarily twisting the hem of your dress. It was pink, and now you think it looks disgusting contrasted to your red hair. You thought it was pretty upstairs. You don't feel pretty anymore.

"What?" He asks you. You almost jump.

"'What', what?"

"You really are pretty today, though, Ginny." He says, confused.

"I—Did I say that out loud?" It's probably obvious you're hiding a blush.

He gives a small smile. "Yeah, you kind of did."

There's no helping mirroring his smile. "Thank you, Harry. Really."

"Is there a reason why you're dressed up, though?"

Your smile becomes tighter and you reply a swift "Not really".

He stares at you past his glasses and it just makes you want to spill every lie you've told since you were seven years old. It wasn't George that put that puking pasty in Ron's soup last year.

"I hate my hair," You blurt out. "It doesn't go with anything I wear."

Harry, to your relief, doesn't laugh.

"Well, I like your hair. And it does go with other things."

"Oh? If it did, then I haven't found it yet."

"Like blue. I think it goes with blue."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but that doesn't exactly—"

"Brown, I think—"

"What? Harry—"

"And green. I think red and green go good together."

He looks embarrassed after he says it and looks away for a second.

"I mean, like Christmastime," he corrects himself.

You smile for what felt like the billionth time today. "Thanks, Harry."

He shrugs. "No problem."

Nothing happens beyond that tiny conversation, and you and Harry part ways. His smile imprints in your mind and you're not sure whether or not you left an impression on him.

You think about that talk for a long time after, because you just realize that Harry had miraculously shown some sort of interest in you, and even if it was a tiny bit, you're going to do your best to reach for it. There's no denying it now—you are in love. But you wonder if that matters.

You lock yourself in your room and take out a pen and parchment. There was no way you were going on that date now.


End file.
